Birthday Party
by Tempo Robinson
Summary: It's Tweek's birthday today, but he isn't very happy. Nothing seems to be going right for him the moment the sun rose. Nothing seems to be going right... At all. As soon as he walked out his front door, a thick fog rolled in. Great. At least he has school to look to, he guesses. Just got to wait for the bus. ... Where is it? Where's anyone?


There is a certain mystery that glazes over small towns within the rural valleys of Colorado in the morning. The air is always chilly, even in the warm summer months there are small cold breezes that kiss the evergreens and patches of white snow that break up the grassy landscape's composition. The sun rises slowly over the high-rising mountain peaks and paints the cracked roads in the town square with gold. Shadows dance across the buildings in the sun's lazy brilliance. The sky morphs into a rainbow of pinks and oranges from the previous night's inky black that blanketed the world. Tiny stars still linger stubbornly in the brightening sky; twinkling and defiant to the larger star's authority. Unseen birds tweet and twitter within the protection of the tree branches and their needly shields. A cat skitters across the crooked sidewalk in front of the quiet grocery store. Light fog begins to roll over and dusts over the whole scene like the finishing touches on a wedding cake.

It seems as though Mother Nature herself is awakening alongside the dawn.

There aren't very many people up at around this hour. A few early risers here and there dot their porches with a coffee in hand. A jogger dashes by, her ponytail swishing in rhythm with her bounding leaps in step of the pop music that could be heard faintly playing in her white earbuds. A restaurant owner steps out of his car to open up for the day, his black hair kept carefully combed on top of his balding head. The American flag is being slowly rose up into the air at the local school by an exhausted worker. It is a beautiful morning indeed, that promises productivity.

What a load of garbage.

He thought angrily as he turned in his bed, his restlessness keeping him up all night. Everyone talks about how beautiful this place is, how remote and peaceful it is. He knows better. Nothing is ever peaceful here. It's all a facade. Everyone pretends that this town is normal but it isn't. Not one bit. Seems as though there isn't a single day that passes by without some sort of out-of-control drama wracking the place with chaos. Be it as mundane as someone tripping down a flight of stairs being turned into a big ordeal that goes sometimes astronomical in how absurd the situation will unfold to be. Some of these issues are contained within the town and only the town, other times it would affect the state. The country. The world. Beyond, even.

Only to go back to normal the next day, just to start all over again. Some may find it comforting, knowing that things will go back to the same swing of things after an incident. Others find it to be a never-ending nightmare of constant anxiety with no break given. Any semblance of safety is pulled out under you like a bully pulls a rug on an unsuspecting student. There is no peace. Even small, quiet moments are temporary in the madness. This place is cursed. He just knows it is. Why else would things like this keep happening? Why there are so many otherworldly creatures, and why he's the only one that remembers them afterwards? Some things stick, stick in the memory-stick in the personal histories of the townspeople. If someone dies, they tend to not come back. Tend to. Maybe he's the one that's cursed. Constant fear, the smallest things make him jump-he's the only one that cares, really. Cares about general safety and normalcy.

Why does this place, this seemingly beautiful small-town getaway, have such bad things happen to it? The boy has made the conclusion for a while that it must be from five individuals that cause the majority of the mayhem that plagues this little valley high in the mountaintops. A group of boys, around his age. They are the cause of so much grief and misery. Much of his, anyway. Always bickering, always getting into trouble. Gah! How on earth can anyone stand them? He hasn't hung around them in years. Roughly elementary school, if his scattered mind can recall. They'd play games together sometimes, like pretending to be superheroes, or warriors, or even ninjas once-but that never lead to anything good. It always ended in tragedy, or someone got hurt. He stopped playing with them, or even talking to them, as soon as middle school rolled around. Anything to avoid trouble, their trouble, to be exact. The last thing he needed was to be around people that could potentially end either his or his boyfriend's life.

Or both.

Does he even count as my boyfriend at this point? He glumly asked himself in his head as he sat up in his bed, the golden beams of sun bleeding through his blinds. Bumblebee stripes decorated his face from the window as he flinched, the blinding glow assaulting his eyes. As he rubbed his eyes, the blond's mind drifted back to a moment sometime two weeks ago, a Monday, he thinks, when he and the raven-haired boy fought in the middle of the hallway. It was after the last session of the Before School program their moms signed them up for to get ready for Junior year when things started to come apart. He was so upset, both of them were, but the reason why has become fuzzy in his brain. He remembered being upset at him, and how his lover kept trying to walk away. He always walked away. Well, not always. Sometimes. Oh, he doesn't know anymore! What he does remember is that the talking became a confrontation, then an argument, then a screaming match, just for it all to end with a slammed locker and a cold shoulder. They always fought, but it would end up on a good note, every time. Why not this time? What did he do?

He started to shake violently. He didn't notice that he was quivering at all, not until his head twitched, causing his neck to hurt. Jesus Christ, that's been a while. He managed to pull himself off of the bed, albeit slowly, his eyes still a bit sore from the sudden left-hook of light. There's something a bit different in his vision this time. It's become blurry. His cheek started to itch and he immediately knew what the cause of obstructed vision was.

He was crying. Again. The third time today. The 27th since the fight. This one was silent, however. I must be too tired to wail anymore.

Wiping his eyes with his green pajama top sleeve and moving his hair out of his face, his blue eyes scanned his room for his phone. In a sobbing fit a few hours prior, he threw it across the room, for what reason he doesn't remember. He hates not being able to remember things. Lack of sleep can do that to someone, but he doesn't care. Not at this moment anyway. His sky blue spheres finally located the discarded phone, at the foot of his chest of drawers. Oh my God, I hope I didn't break it. The messy-haired boy shuffled his way over to his phone, and gingerly picked it up, careful not to drop it by accident or cut his finger if broken. Please don't be broken, please don't be broken…

Sweet Jesus.

The phone had one large crack, snaking its way from the top right of the small rectangle down to the center of the bottom. Of course he was upset that his phone was damaged at all, but it truly is a miracle that it didn't break into pieces at the velocity he chucked it. He sighed in relief, his body starting to relax again with the worry ebbing away. With a small tap of the power button, his screen lit up in the relative darkness. No new messages. Not since two weeks ago. His hands started to shake again, his anxiety coming back. Now he remembers why he threw his phone: he was trying to text his boyfriend in the middle of the night, trying to talk about what happened that Monday only for his number to be blocked after a few minutes of silence. That hurt, of course, but there was something else that made him cry along with it. Something worse. What was it? God, he must hate me. What did we fight about? Come on, think, you stupid piece of-

He dropped his phone on the carpet again with the loosened grip of his trembling fingers. He didn't pick it up again. If Craig texts him it would probably be a middle finger or a "I hate you" or something equally as dreadful. No, he doesn't want to talk to him at the moment. Last night, yeah? That was a disaster. Disaster. You're a disaster. Total one, at that. Jesus Christ, I need a coffee. I'm tired. What's today again? Why was I upset about today earlier? All of those questions swirled in his sleep deprived mind when he opened his door and padded down the stairs to the kitchen, his fingers fidgeting all the way. Coffee, coffee, coffee.

The kitchen was lit up enough for him not to turn on the lights. The sun's warm rays blessed this room too through the windows, little particles of dust dancing through where the light touched. The tall boy maneuvered his way to the kitchen cabinets above the sink to fetch his prize: coffee. He opened the lid of the pink container and breathed in deeply, his eyes fluttered closed. The strong, almost bitter, scent welcomed itself to his senses, and he smiled gently. This is the stuff-Norwegian Forest Specialty Blend. One of his favourites. Satisfied, he walked over to the coffee maker of the counter opposite to him, looking forward to his morning brew. Sky blue eyes glanced over to the clock. 5:21 AM. Well, isn't that just lovely? Wait a minute…

He stopped what he was doing and placed the pink container on the counter behind him. The calendar was thumbtacked next to the digital timepiece, with colourful writing scrawled on a specific date. He couldn't quite make it out, but he knew it was important. Bare feet quietly padded towards the calendar so he could take a look.

 **TWEEK'S 17th BIRTHDAY! PARTY 3 CITY WOK**

 **FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! :)**

Oh yeah, that's right! His birthday is this week! It's not until the 17th, though. There's plenty of time to get people invited. Nobody wants to be alone on his birthday. He doesn't have very many friends, or any for that matter, not since Clyde moved anyway, but it's been pretty much guaranteed that if there's going to be any party at all the students are going to come. Crazy things do happen around here but whenever things get boring, any event that sparks even a fleeting apparition of entertainment is going to attract people to come and join. Besides, maybe Craig will forgive him for whatever he did and come! Yeah, that'd be awesome! Wait, but what if he doesn't? What if he still hates me? What if everyone else hates me because one of the most popular guys at school hates me? What if nobody comes? People haven't been talking to me lately, not since the fight. Did I even invite people? GAH! Too much! Too much thinking, pressure! Pressure! Just make the damn coffee!

A hard head turn and frantic panicking later, the pot was finally prepared and the comforting sounds of the machine whirring filled his ears, calming him down once more. Such a terrible time to have run out of your medication. He needs to remind his mom to go to the pharmacy sometime this week to pick up his meds. Nobody likes feeling that they are constantly about to die from x thing. A dark, humorous thought flashed in his head. Maybe everyone else in this wretched place takes the same medications I do. A tiny smile crept on his face. Boy, wouldn't that be hilarious? I wouldn't be so weird then, now would I? Faint, deep chuckles resonated from his slender throat from the silly idea as he snatched his favourite mug from the drain rack. He placed it on the counter next to the coffee pot as he read the timer: 20 minutes.

He decided to glance over at the clock again. 5:33. His parents must have opened up the coffee shop early today, because they haven't showed up for breakfast yet. It's not like as if they eat breakfast together, anyway. None of the Tweaks' are much of morning eaters, so they just hang around the breakfast nook and talk about what they're going to do that day or how things were yesterday over some mugs of coffee. Some find it bizarre at how early the household gets up, but in a family of caffeine enthusiasts, is it really? 5:35. Thinking takes forever. Or is it fast?

The coffee doesn't take much longer to brew for him as the tall, blond boy became lost in his thoughts about time and how it's relative to each individual's own perspective. Maybe he should be calm more often. He could become a philosopher or a psychologist whenever he's out of high school. Ha! A psycho being a psychologist! What a joke! Another bitter laugh came from him, a little bit more audible than the last. There was no smile. I need to lighten up. Well, should I? Seems as though the only way to survive in this place is to be willfully ignorant of the void. Not too ignorant, not too ignorant... His eyebrows furrowed even further and his frown more prominent.

Coffee.

Once again, the bitter-sweet aroma of the liquid gold lead him out of his thoughts and back into his kitchen, the face of worry gently lifted into something more peaceful. At least I have this. He grabbed his mug and filled it as high as he could before it would spill, the hot drink caressing his sharp face like a grandmother greeting her children's children. Even if everyone were to disappear forever, he'd have this one thing. His only comfort. Some might call him an addict. So what if he was? It would just add on to the many, many undesirable traits he has. He really does need to stop thinking so negatively. Still not entirely too sure why, though. He blew on the coffee like how one might blow a dandelion, and took a small sip. The flavoured black water burned his tongue, but it's nothing. He's scalded his tongue into submission years ago. It's become a sign of reassurance to him. A symbol of safety. Another sip was taken as he stepped away from his counter and slowly walked towards the stairs, his nerves calmed at last. The time read 6:12. Sun began to pour throughout the house.

I wonder what Mom will get me? He wondered to himself as he lazily moved up the stairs, a stark contrast to his trek down from earlier. He took small sips on his way up, a drop of brown on the corner of his thin lips. Once again, he got lost in his thoughts. She probably got me another birthday ring. When will she realise that I don't need 17 peridot jewelry things that I don't wear? Hopefully it's earrings this time, if it is something like that. Maybe she's even gotten me a new phone. I hope so. I don't want to cut my finger on my screen! Dad? Probably something lame again, like socks or a colouring book like last year. He's never been good at gifts, like at all. Craig…

He stopped at the top step. The feelings of sadness and guilt washed over him again like a cold, calm wave that settled heavily in his chest. Craig. Will he even come to my party? I wish I knew why we fought. Of all the things I block out, it just has to be fights! I hope he forgives me, I hope-

With the turn of a metal knob, his bedroom door creaked open. Half of the coffee was gone. Half of him was gone. Felt like it, anyway. The light flicked on without thought. Not once did he set the coffee down when he entered his room and looked in the mirror above his drawers. His hair was wild, like as if the brush was never invented, and a striking blond. Light blue eyes were dull and set with dark circles underneath and thick eyebrows above. A face long, thin and sharp was accented with equally dangerous cheekbones that lie high on the sides. He had no slope to his nose at all, and very subtle stubble was starting to make itself known on his angular chin. He looked like a full-grown man, but everyone still called him a kid. He looked tired. He looked rough. He still hasn't decided if that makes him "rugged" or not. If only people cared about lean bodies just as much they do about buff ones, maybe he'd know.

The only thing that he's certain of is that he is unexpectedly tall. Freakishly tall. Scarily tall. Nobody in his family is as tall as he is, not even his cousins. Everyone thought that he was going to remain at least a little bit small, considering all of the men on his mother's side are short and his father is the only "tall" person in his side of the family not through marriage. Even he thought he was going to be little. The only kid in his grade that was shorter than him was Butters, and he grew taller before he did! But sometime when he was turning 13, puberty kicked into overdrive and soon he became both the beanstalk that Jack climbed and the giant that fell in that story he was told as a kid. One inch from 7 foot, the doctor said. If it weren't for Kenny's father he'd be the tallest person in the entire town. Isn't that just lovely? Freak both in nature and in appearance. Fe fi fo fum. Fuck off.

"AIYEE!" Mr. Giant jumped at least five inches off of the ground when he felt a buzzing go off under his feet. His coffee cup flung across the room and landed on his bed, seeping coffee deep into the rug and sheets. He looked down immediately, and it took him a second to realise it was his phone that he dropped. Its screen lit up white and it was vibrating like a massage chair. Maybe it's Craig! Oh God, what do I do?! Is he gonna yell at me? I hope not! An apology? M-Maybe? Afraid of missing the call, he bent down and swiftly ripped his phone off of his bedroom floor. Don't hang up! Don't hang up! He unlocked it as fast as he could.

It wasn't Craig.

It was his alarm.

 **AUG 17 6:10 SCHOOL ALARM**

Oh. My. GOD.

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY

I WAITED TOO LONG OH MY SWEETTTRRTYTYTRTYGV

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Anything that could be categorized as a coherent thought was lost to his panic. Tremors wracked his body, his head twitched like a rabbit's nose as he pulled his hair. He ran around his room in panic, screaming at the realisation. He invited nobody to his party. Nobody knows about it. Craig is still mad at him so he isn't coming. It's the first day of school so the announcements won't have his name for the birthdays until a few days too late. Nobody can come to it. Not last minute, that's rude! This whole thing is rude! Wait, school? Yeah, school! Gotta get ready! Gotta get ready! AAAA!

The time on the clock above his door read 6:23. Seven minutes to get ready. Ah! Why didn't his parents wake him?! Oh, wait. They weren't there. Of course! Gah!

He tore through his room like the Tasmanian Devil, ripping his closet open like a kitten and tissue to grab his backpack. Wait, I can't put on my backpack! Not right now! Okay, okay. Dressed! Gotta get dressed! Uhhhhh. Like a madman, he flung open his drawers to throw on something other than his striped pajamas. Shirt? Check. Pants? Check. Socks? Check. Shoes? Check. Deodorant? Check. Teeth? He shoved a piece of mint gum into his mouth. Check. No time for earrings! Well, maybe. Uh, uh, uh! There! Emerald? Emerald is good. Shoes? Shoes! They're downstairs! Okay, gotta go downstairs again! WAIT! MY PHONE!

For the third time that morning he picked his phone off of the ground, its large crack taunting the blond. The charge was surprisingly decent: 72%. If he doesn't use it a ton throughout the day, the phone will still have enough for when he gets home. Just to be sure, he unplugged the charger cord from the wall and stuffed it into his black jeans pocket. The clock read 6:26. He has to leave NOW. With backpack in tow and a flick of the light switch, he rushed down the stairs so fast that he almost went tumbling down the last few. The black sneakers at the door were lying askew, as per usual, on the tile near the door. Their laces were already tied so he yanked them on in an ungraceful fashion. Just before he left he took the key off of the side table nearby and bolted out the door, the wood slamming loudly behind him. 6:29. One minute left before the bus came.

The fog thickened since this morning, making the sun's warm glow from earlier become a pale yellow. The morning became cooler, which is odd for the middle of August for most places. South Park isn't most places, however, so he just ignored it as he sprinted for the bus stop. Snow kicked up from his shoes and licked his pants where he ran across the lawn. Get there! Get there! Come on! The bus driver who they've had on that route since seventh grade was impeccable with her timing, always arriving on the mark without fail. She'd only wait for two minutes before she'd close her doors on your face and would drive away even if you were banging on the glass to get in. 6:30. The bus stop is right there, right in front of him! But.

There's no bus.

Holy crap, she's late! Maybe today won't be so bad!

He slowed his pace as he approached the yellow sign, eventually stopping to wait patiently for Mrs. Monroe. He wished that he brought a jacket with him. The temperature seems to be dropping steadily. Shivers started up in his body again, but not from his usual caffeinated quakes. Outside really is getting colder. To try to keep warm, he wrapped his arms around his torso and started to rub. Where is the bus? He peered down the street. No lights from the bus at all. No lights at all, for that matter. The fog became opaque, it's greys and whites blocking out the yellow of the sun almost completely. Of course, of course. His only special day in the whole year and the weather decides to be gross. He looked up the other side of the street. Nothing. Did they move school up a day? They must have. His phone read 6:34. Monroe is really, really late. Late for her anyway. Speaking of late, where are the others? He turned all around, looking for the other students on his block. Not a single soul.

The streets were completely devoid of life, and the grey rendered the sun's yellow nonexistent. It's only gotten colder, with the temperature being that of a chilly night in November. The roads themselves seemed to have gotten darker. A light breeze tussled his hair and carried his clouded breath away.

Okay, this is getting creepy. Maybe school really was moved up a day. Leave it to the lovely administration to not notify everyone, he thought glumly to himself. Yeah, he wouldn't have to face Craig today but he got all worked up over nothing. Like always. Always upset, always high strung, never calm, never happy. Maybe that's why Craig was so upset. Blue eyes looked down onto the black and white sneakers flaked with snow. I have been awfully down lately, even more so than usual. Who would want to be around a Debbie Downer? Head craned down, feet dragging the ground, he slowly made his way back to his house, kicking a pebble with him from one of the many, many cracks in the concrete.. Not one person was outside. All of the lights were off.

Spooky. Don't think about it. There's too much on your brain right now, man. Just keep going. Go home. Or school. Why school? Well, maybe they changed the bus schedules and he missed it. Or maybe it's a cruel joke on me? Whatever, whatever. Everything sucks right now. It's cold, my birthday is today and nobody will come, Craig hates me, and my parents aren't even home to tell me "Happy birthday"! Does everyone hate me? He began to shake again. What did I do? Why is everything like this? Is it a conspiracy? Conspiracy against me?! What if someone is hiding in the bushes? What if-

What in the fresh hell?

The door was open. His door. The front door.

Oh my god.

A thief! No, wait, a murderer! A ghost? Vampire? No, it's in the middle of the day. GASP! A DAY VAMPIRE?! Oh my god a vampire is in my house!

Twitches racked his body once more; fear permeating his whole being. He snatched a sharp twig off of the ground and bolted into the foyer, screaming like a madman being chased by a rabid chipmunk. He swung his stick around dramatically with his eyes clenched shut, expecting an intruder to come after his flailing form. Nothing. Blue peeked out from under an eyelid. No one. Empty. The room is empty, with the only signs of life being his own ragged breath. White clouds puffed from his lips once more, the house itself becoming colder. Something is wrong. Very wrong. Both eyes finally opened up and shoulders dropped, but the stick was still held tightly in his fist. Just in case, just in case.

This is becoming unbearable, thoughts echoed through his head. The coatrack was adjacent to him, and he reached to grab his dark green, heavy jacket to shield himself from the unrelenting August cold. August. The hottest month in the year. One would think it's January. Wait, wait this isn't right. What?

His eyes widened.

His mom's coat is here. So is his dad's. The dull pink and dark brown garments were hidden behind his own jacket. They never leave anywhere without them. Was it nice this morning? No, no it was chilly earlier, too. Oh my god. Where are they? Where are they?!

He threw on his jacket and sprinted up the stairs, calling out for his parents frantically. He slammed open their bedroom door. Nobody. He threw on his jacket and sprinted up the stairs, calling out for his parents frantically. He slammed open their bedroom door. Nobody. The bed wasn't made yet, so they were definitely here during the night. Oh god, oh god! The closet door banged against the wall from the intense force he pulled it with. Not even his dad. He checked the bathroom. The guest room. The attic. The basement. Where is everyone? The closet door banged against the wall from the intense force he pulled it with. Not even his dad. He checked the bathroom. The guest room. The attic. The basement. Where is everyone?

Okay, okay. Maybe they're all at school? Yeah! That's what it is! It's a surprise at school, the bastards! Giving me a heartattack for a surprise party! Right? Right? They're at school, totally not dead. Not killed by vampires or ghosts or anything like that. Or murderers, nope! Not here! Not in sweet, little, hellish South Park! Nothing like that, nothing like that… I'm going to puke. Run. Run to the school. That's where they are, maybe. No, they are? What if they're at the pond or the church instead? Details! Remember, details are in the devil! No, wait, the devil is in the details. Isn't Satan a nice guy, though? Focus! Focus, you piece of crap! GAH! PRESSURE!

He didn't even close the door this time. Long, spindly legs carried the shivering, hyperventilating mess through the streets. He soared over the broken sidewalks and the freshly fallen snow, shoes echoing lonely amongst the quiet houses. In his panic, he didn't notice the strange emptiness of the usually lively streets. No one was there. Cars were abandoned on the roads, some of their doors wide open. Porch lights were turned off. Not even the birds were out. Small flecks of snow caught into his hair and eyebrows, dotting his dark green jacket with white. All of the lights in town were off. God, it's so hard to see in this fog! Gotta get to school, gotta get to school. There was no point in looking both ways when he crossed the street; there weren't any cars. The only sounds in the dead silence of the morning were his heavy footfalls and gasps air. Absolutely dead. No wind, no creaking of wood, no buzzing of streetlights. Silence. All were dead except for him. Gray and dull colours decorated the valley.

He whizzed by the storefronts on his panicked trek. All of the windows were dark and foreboding. If he were to stop to catch his breath he'd notice that no one was in the buildings. The only one he gazed upon was the family cafe. Empty and dark, too. They aren't there. More cars. Less sun. Less sight. No people. More fear. The buildings loomed eerily like Colossus in the distance, their bright colours drained black by the thick, encompassing fog. Even the green street signs were drained of their hue. All of the neon signs in the bar windows were blank. The bulbs of the theater tower were burnt out. His lungs were burning from the relentless running, but he didn't dare stop. He needed to see if his parents were okay. He needed to see if Craig was okay. Oh GOD, what if those kids did this?! I wouldn't put it past them to do something like this. No wait; school. Gotta go to school. Gotta see them. They're there, aren't they? Totally. They have to be. Is that it?

At first, it was hard to tell if that really was the school building. Even though it's the tallest structure in the whole town, the suffocating white mist shrouded its grandeur. He finally slowed down, taking his half-mile sprint into a light walk. His head was pounding. He needed to rest, even just a little bit. The long flagpole was nearby, the drooping American flag barely visible above. There. I'll rest there. Crunch, crunch, crunch. New footsteps were made in the white, powdery snow when he turned off of the sidewalk and into the school yard. Crunch, crunch, crunch. He could see a small light in the distance in one of the windows of the school. A small, shaky sigh of relief. A back on the metal pole, rope nearby. Thank God. This really is a trick. A conspiracy. He knew it. God, this pole is cold. Time to go in. Time to get jumpscared by a "Happy Birthday!" The blond shifted off of the cold metal. Time to-

"Ow!"

He stubbed his toe on something hard, and reeled back by the sudden jolt of pain. What the heck? Why? Annoyed, he looked down to look for his inanimate assailant. It was long, and slightly kicked up from the snow. Partially buried. Brown. And wooden. A stick? No, too smooth. Too light coloured. A tool of some kind? Maybe. Long and reddened fingers gingerly picked up the heavy weapon a few inches from the ground. It was a hammer! Specifically, the janitor's hammer. The red and purple stripes on the bottom made that very clear. He must have dropped it. That means someone was here, at least a few hours ago, judging from the amount of snow that lied on top of it. He should return it. Deep pockets concealed the heavy tool while he twitched and trudged up to the school steps.

The windows were dark, and not a soul could be seen. Are they even here? The handle to the door was burning cold, and he winced at the smallest touch. Not wanting to hurt himself even further, the blue-eyed giant pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand and tired again. The door creaked open easily. The only light in the corridor was coming from the windows and the pale white of the door. The light glinted subtly on the lockers lined on the linoleum. Once again, silence. Don't freak yourself out. Stop shaking. Well, it's cold. Okay, don't stop shaking. Please stop freaking out, though. Breathe.

He stepped into the hallway. The door swung slowly closed.

It was cold.

Colder than usual.

White puffs continued to spill out from chapped lips.

The hammer was heavy.

There is no sound but his breath and his heartbeat.

Walk.

Find the light.

Find your parents.

Find your boyfriend.

Walk.

The hammer was heavy in his jacket.

Breathe.

The twig started to poke his side.

Relax.

His heart was heavy in his chest.

Small taps echoed like faint murmurs down the hallway. It was dark, very dark. Some corners were as black as pitch. There was no light in some places, none at all. The only saving grace for vision was the light bleeding into small rectangles onto the floor from the windows in the classrooms facing the outside. The further into the school he crept, the more ominous the darkness became. He thought about taking his phone to use as a light, but he decided against it. He needs to conserve his charge, even as high as it is. Doors were open. Doors were closed. Lockers were open. Lockers were closed. No one at either.

The early kids must have been here already.

Why, he thought to himself. This is a party, yeah? He's in denial. Probably. Definitely. They aren't here. You fooled yourself, now you're going to die. Don't think that! Just keep walking. Look into the windows of the classroom. Look for the light. Look for the light. It's bound to be here! I just saw it outside. Some papers were sparsely scattered about on the tile. Someone's pencils were strewn about. Is that a backpack? Oh god. Look for it, look for it.

"There!"

In one of the open classrooms, there was a bright light coming from one of the desks. It was Mrs. Freeman's class. English 3, his favourite class. Honours. The only class that he's any good at, anyway. But there's no one there. Only the cold light from the window and the bright one from the desk. Should I? Should I investigate? Everything else this morning has been terrible, spooky, and wrong. What harm could it do? Well, it could kill you. It could summon a demon and rip you into ribbons of gore. There's that. Or, or. It could show me something. Or it's just something completely innocuous and I'm just being a big baby. Debbie Downer. Where are his parents? Where is his Craig? Is this punishment for being a bad boyfriend? What did he do? Just go look at the light, you idiot. Backpacks littered the floor. Did they… disappear? Oh my god.

Tweek Tweak was alone on his birthday.

He walked slowly, and silently. The light was on the desk nearest to the window. This one was Kyle's desk. He remembers from orientation. He's the only one of that horrid little group that he liked. He didn't dare talk to the others, in fear of getting mixed up in whatever insanity one of them initiated, but he felt that he could talk to Kyle, even for just small talk in the hallways. He's intelligent, for one thing, which is something that the rest of the group seems to be lacking. Well, to him, anyway. An early kid, definitely. How many honours classes is he in? This is the only one that he knows for sure, and he also knows that there's more. Honors math is more than likely. What was I doing? Stop drifting off, doofus! Ah, you're so stupid. The light, the light! He continued to shuffle slowly across the sea of discarded bookbags and closed laptops and light brown desks. The light was coming from something small. A phone? Yes, a phone. On full brightness.

He finally reached the final desk on the front row. Yes, it was a phone. A red phone. Kyle's. One of his-he had two. One was broken and used for games. It must have been left behind like everything else. This is the broken one-the spider web cracks giving its identity. Don't touch it. It could explode or something like that. Irrational. It could, though. Everything is insane, might as well think insane. He hovered over the small device, and tilted his head down. There's a message. A word document. Only one word. Large font, bold. Only one word on the screen. Enough for bile to churn in his stomach.

 **RUN**

Panic settled into his body again. Run? Run from what? Monsters! Oh Jesus Christ! Grab the phone! If it does explode at least it's better than a freaking one-eyed three-mouthed harpy! Grab it!

He snatched the phone as fast as he could and pocketed it opposite of his hammer. He barreled out of the classroom and blindly into the hallway. Where to run? Run where? Does it really matter? Just run! Get out! Get out of the building! Papers skittered about where he kicked them. Quick rebounds of sound quaked the hallways from his fleeing form. Panic, panic! Everything blurred from the darkness and the troubled brain. Everyone is gone. Why? Where? How? When? Why? Why? Why? A sharp turn. A snatched shoulder on a locker door. Keep going. Is that it? Yes! The front doors! Go, go, go! His speed picked up even more, if that was even possible, and slammed his whole body into the metal. The doors flew out violently while green flashed out of the entrance, nearly falling down the school stairs. He didn't stop. He continued to run, run past the stores, run past the cars, the houses. He couldn't see 10 feet ahead of himself. Doesn't matter, he knows the way home. Just keep going. That fire in his throat and in his legs returned. Keep going.

Black sneakers bounded up steps. Bounded into the front room. Up the stairs. Into his room. There was a slam behind him. He closed the front door. Another slam. His bedroom. He heaved, chest rising and falling irregularly. His bright blond hair stuck on his forehead and fell to the sides of his lowered face, eyes screwed shut. This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is a dream, a horrible nightmare. I fell asleep last night in a fit of tears. I was scared of Craig leaving me, so I came up with this nasty nightmare of everyone gone. That's it. It isn't something supernatural, it isn't a sick joke. It's nothing. Nothing at all. Just, go to bed. Go back to bed so when you wake up, you wake up for real and all of this goes away and Craig and Kyle are at school waiting for you. Then you'll go to City Wok and celebrate your birthday, and Mom will give me a peridot jewelry thing. Dad will give me something lame, like socks or a book in a genre that I don't like. We'll laugh, and eat the coffee cakes Mr. Kim makes. Craig might be there. I'll get Kyle there, at least. Just a small, small thing. Yeah… yeah. Go to bed. Breathe. 1, 2, 3…

He relaxed again, finishing the count to 10. This will all be resolved soon, anyway. It always is. I guess there is some comfort in that mindset after all. He slowly raised his head, eyes still closed. Stand upright, it's best for your back. Don't want to be hobbling at age 30. Meander to the bed. That's a nice word, heh. Meander. Keep thinking about that. Another twitch. He kicked off his shoes, not even bothering to take off his white socks. His eyes were still closed. Backpack slung to the ground. Eyes were closed. Keep your jacket on, it's cold. Closed eyes. Might want to open them so you won't step on any stray LEGOs. Eyes partially open.

Then they flung wide.

There's something under the comforter on his bed.

Tweek Tweak isn't alone on his birthday.


End file.
